I blush at several of the things he says, not least of which that he called me “pretty.”
“You don’t have to do what she says,” I say, hating myself for not knowing how to graciously accept a compliment or muster a more characteristically sassy response. But… but it’s Jet Knox! I’m officially star-struck. So much for playing it cool.
He smiles. “Yes, actually, I normally do. But it’s our bye week, which is why we’re having this party before Thanksgiving. And the only reason we have decent food and booze.” Nodding toward the mountain of a man on the dance floor, he says, “Jackson wouldn’t be allowed to attempt those dance moves. I’m pretty sure he’s about to hurt himself. Or bring this whole place down.”
I laugh, relaxing as Jet also seems to regain his social footing.
Looking relieved that I’m loosening up, he holds out his hand. “I’m Jet.”
I allow my hand to be consumed by his and pretend it’s not hilarious for him to be introducing himself to me, a nobody job counselor from Overland Park, Kansas. “I’m Maura.”
“Nice to meet you, Maura.” He plunks his massive mitt on the table and drums his surprisingly nimble fingers. “You don’t look like you’re having a good time. I feel bad about that.”
Quickly, I reassure him, “Well, it’s not anyone’s fault. Especially not yours. But it’s surreal—and intimidating—being here. Rae’s busy, so she hasn’t had a chance to introduce me to anyone, that’s all.”
He cocks an eyebrow at me. “Rae needs to get a life. No offense. I know she’s your friend and all, but she’s a little intense.” At that, he chuckles nervously and scratches his eyebrow. “Don’t tell her I said that, though.”
I narrow my eyes. “She’s one of the first ones on the field when you’re hurt, right?” Grabbing the spot where his shoulder meets his neck, I imitate a trainer who’s trying to diagnose a problem and pretend to squeeze maliciously. “Does this hurt?” I ask, wearing a serious expression and assuming a grave tone of voice.
He winces, sucking in a breath as if I’m causing him great discomfort, even though I probably couldn’t hurt him if I tried. “Not until you did that. Gaaaaah!”
We chuckle at our dorky playacting, and I remove my hand from his rock-hard muscle, suddenly hyper-aware I’ve touched someone I’ve only ever seen before on TV and in print.
I look down at my hands in my lap. “Anyway, I won’t tell her what you said.”
He stands, and I figure he’s going to return to socializing with his teammates now that he’s done his duty tour of the room, but his hand enters my field of vision, and he wiggles his fingers. “Come on. Let’s dance.”
Immediately, I stand and comply with his request, too grateful for the break in the monotony to play coy. Plus, I’d have to be in a coma to turn down an opportunity like this, if for no other reason than to brag about it to my brother.
After the song ends, the DJ plays an R&B request from one of the players to his “new, hot wife,” so I step back from Jet. It occurs to me he probably has a bleached, buffed, waxed date wandering around here somewhere. A glance at my table tells me Rae’s back from giving Joaquin his holiday rub-down. She’s glaring at Jet and me.
“Forget her,” my dance partner says, stepping forward and grasping me around my waist.
Instantly done.
Near my ear, his cheek pressed against mine, he says, “It’s boring over at that table. There’s no way I’m going to let you walk away from this party thinking we’re boring. The NFL has a reputation to uphold, you know.”
As he returns to his full height, his face glides across mine like satin against velvet. He pulls me closer so the beads on my dress catch on his silk tie. Someone capable of an emotion close to “worry” would step back to prevent snagging the accessory that probably cost half of my last paycheck. I’m too tingly, warm, and loose to fret, though.
Plus, he doesn’t seem worried about his tie, so why should I be?
All I can possibly think about is those hands. And those eyes. And that chest. I’m vaguely aware of the song playing, but I won’t remember it when it’s over.
I smile dreamily. Wait until I tell my brother about this.
Too soon, I find myself sitting in Rae’s SUV, looking out the passenger window while she grills me.
“What else did you guys talk about? What did he say about me? He always acts like he’s forcing himself to be civil to me, like he hates my guts and rolls his eyes behind my back. Did he trash talk me?”
Since what Jet said about Rae was nothing close to what I’d call “trash talking,” I’m not lying by keeping my promise to him. “No, not at all.”
“Then what did you two talk about for so long out there?”
“Fade routes and slants. Oh, and the importance of a balanced running and passing game.”
She scoffs. “Fine. Don’t tell me. I already know, anyway.”
Turning my head to look at her, I sigh. “I’m kidding. But really, we didn’t talk about you at all. Except at first. He said you asked him to keep me company, when you passed him in the hallway on the way to the therapy room.”
Wrinkling her nose and forehead, she says, “I didn’t see him anywhere until he was out there on the dance floor with his grubby hands all over you. I definitely wouldn’t have told him to talk to you. All those guys are major players.”
“Yeah, darn good ones.”
This gets her to laugh, in spite of her rotten mood. “You know what I mean. Since that supposed conversation I had with him never happened, it appears Knox is also a liar. Shocking.”
“Well, I’m hardly planning to get involved with him. We talked for a few minutes and danced to a couple of songs. Big deal.”
Oh, and
